The Consequences of Almost Drowning
by hurrian-hymn
Summary: "Your skills in swimming are truly impressive." "Oh shut it, will you! Go splash in the water somewhere you useless lifeguard!" When she first saw him, she thought he was so hot that she imagined herself faking to drown if only he could then rescue her. Too bad that he turns out to be a huge prick, and even worse that she really does almost drown. (Tomione lifeguard AU, one-shot)


Hermione only agreed to spend the day at Hogsmeade beach because Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna had promised her she didn't have to dip her toes into the sea. She had to only sit at the edge with their belongings in tow. And occasionally look up to observe their most 'fun' of activities, as Harry had exclaimed with eloquence, lest she stay out of the loop when they recall their adventurous tales later on.

Nevertheless, she's seated cross-legged now on the beach towel, with a giant, hideous green umbrella shading her from the weak sunlight (It was Mrs Wealey's choice of umbrella, and Harry's choice of all days to spend time at the beach). The cool weather explained the small crowd currently populating the beach, as had it been a true sunny day, the beach would've been overcrowded.

After Luna slipped into her aqua shoes and headed off to join the others already in the water, Hermione sighs and leans against the pillow. She's also changed into her swimmers—a practical and modest rash shirt with shorts, just in case she decides to take a stroll along the shore's perimeter. After watching the tidal waves roll into foam, she unclasps her tote bag to retrieve her copy of Jane Eyre.

When she's not reading for academic purposes, Hermione enjoys reading for pleasure. And when it's a text that's both academic and enjoyable just for the sake of it, it's all the more exciting. Which is the case with her current novel from university. The novel has also been assigned to Harry, although he attends a different class and lecture for their literature studies unit.

Seagulls are cawing overhead, picking around for some food, but it doesn't deter her reading. She's immersed in the plot, up to the scene where Jane is introduced to Mr Rochester, before Hermione takes a periodic break to snack on trail mix and pull out a bottle of iced tea from the cooler.

"Hermione! Take a look at this!"

Hermione looks up to see Harry stand straight before an incoming wave behind him, arms raised high, and then the tidal wave crashes into his form, knocking him into the shore below.

She gives an eye-roll and chuckles, turning to see Ron and Ginny laughing hysterically nearby as Harry pulls himself onto the wet sand, reaching up a hand to fix his skewed glasses. They'll never end their childish antics, she muses.

Hermione looks up to a sound of commotion. It was coming from under the tent pitched up in the middle of the beach, where the lifeguards were setting up plastic chairs and tables, along with a bass player.

That's when she sees him, and she swears her heart skips a beat or two or three.

Tall, sharp cheekbones and a cutting jawline framed with perfectly curled dark hair. And a chiseled physique, achieved only from years of swimming, she assumes, and dressed in a yellow, long sleeved polo with red shorts. The uniform was silly, but it didn't hide the fact that he was, by far, the hottest looking lifeguard she has ever seen. Not that she has encountered many lifeguards in her adult life, but still. She's not one to openly express her desire towards physically attractive individuals, and yet for him, she may just fake to drown if she could be closer to him. She may just 'accidentally' trip near him so he had to acknowledge her and talk to her.

But after allowing herself to gloat like a dumb fish at the unfairly hot lifeguard for a while, Hermione composes herself and shakes her head. If there's one thing that's certain about abnormally good-looking men, is that the moment words escape their mouths, they turn out to be the biggest jerks in existence. And that is why, it's far more safe to just admire from a distance otherwise ignore them.

With discipline, Hermione looks back down to continue reading her novel. She tries to shift her focus. She convinces herself that in the end, her books are a lot more interesting than men.

"Please join us now."

Harry was in front of her, grinning expectantly, and he was a sight to behold with his sopping wet hair clinging to his face and neck. "You can come back to your books later, but please, for us, for me—"

"Fine. But only for a short while."

Harry gives a mock cheer as she gets up, shaking off the loose sand and adjusting her shirt.

"Hey, Riddle's here."

She hopes that Harry didn't notice the way her head did whiplash when he had gestured towards the tent.

"You know him?"

He squeegees his hair and waves at Ron in the distance.

"Yeah. He's Tom Riddle, the teacher assistant for my literature studies class. He mentioned something about lifeguarding part-time, didn't think I'd see him here, though"

"I haven't seen him on campus before."

"He's only in my lectures, then, which explains why you haven't come across him. And that's fortunate, I think, because you would've been annoyed with the number of fangirls that interrupt his segment of the lessons all the time."

Right, of course he would have fangirls. Probably lapped up all the attention, too. Gross.

"That's a strange combination, teaching and lifeguarding," Hermione replies, contemplating how the man could be a teacher, a lifeguard, and looking like he stepped off a fashion magazine cover all at once.

"I agree, he's a good teacher, explains the stuff well. Anyway, let's hit the water now."

She follows behind Harry, who dives off into the far side of the sea as she ambles into the shore. It's not too bad in the water, cold at first, but she becomes used to the temperature once submerged half-way. Hermione lost herself in the coolness of the waves lapping at her limbs, and tried to float on the surface. It was one of the few techniques she had learnt back in swimming school when she was nine.

"—Excuse me! Girl with the wild hair! Stop making me repeat myself, and swim over to the right side already!"

Wiping her bangs away from her eyes, Hermione looks up, and falters. It was the lifeguard, the hot lifeguard. Talking to her. He looked too serious. And just as she thought, sounded rude. Nonetheless, she looks away and paddles over, feeling his judgemental stare at her rudimentary swimming skills.

"Any slower now!"

What. A. Prick.

She stops swimming and glares at him, and she tries to control herself not to snap at him, because her assumptions were correct, he really was a jerk, a massive jerk—

"Your skills in swimming are truly impressive."

"Oh shut it, will you! Go splash in the water somewhere you useless lifeguard!"

His mouth opens, and he glowers. She thinks she may have gone too far too soon, but she feels pleased. And, of course, she pointedly ignores the look of his full, luscious lips left ajar from her rebuke. What a waste of good looks.

After much laboured swimming and scowling to herself, she reaches the other side and joins her friends. Luna swims up next to her.

"You okay, Hermione? We couldn't hear what the lifeguard was saying, but we were just told to stay here by the other lifeguards because there's high tides."

"I'd rather not recount the horrid affair just then," she answers, then crosses her arms and looks expectantly at Harry. "Just one thing, Harry, your teacher—" she hooks a thumb in said lifeguard's direction, and flusters to note he was still staring her. He appeared rather angry. Good. But she doesn't cower under his gaze. "—is a complete jerk. And I hate him."

Harry puts his hands up in surrender and cries 'sorry I forgot to tell you about his attitude sometimes!' before diving off into the sea.

They then play a game of volleyball in the water, and Hermione keeps missing the ball, or throws it lamely. Her attempts were pitiful, much to the chagrin of Ron who tells her straight up to show true sportsmanship for once (at which she tells him to sod-off).

Soon, they decide to take a break and go over to the cafe to buy some ice-creams. Hermione mentions for them to buy one for her, deciding instead to stay in the water.

She throws the ball around on her own, throwing it in the air and catching it. When she misses to catch the volleyball yet again, watching it drift away from her, Hermione doesn't anticipate what happens next.

Floating over, her hands grab the ball, and just as she makes her way back to shore, a wave crashes behind her and she's ducked under the sea.

Saltwater fills her mouth, her eyes, her lungs. She strains to move her limbs, but it feels impossible to do so under the pressure of the sea, as though she's stuck in a vacuum and being held down by chains of lead. Heart pounding and mouth open in a soundless scream, she sinks lower, and she's sure that this was the end of her life.

Then, she feels a pair of strong hands under her arms. She's pulled close into someone, hauled through the water, and takes in a deep breath of air when she finally resurfaces.

Unceremoniously, she's laid flat onto the shore with a towel draped on top, and stares right back into the face of none other than the arsehole lifeguard. Her heart stutters like her next words, because he was so beautiful even up close, saturated and dripping with water and all. Good riddance, and how unfair.

"I—thanks. For saving—" She coughs up water, and tries to blink away the sand in her eyes. "Me, that is." She doesn't even want to think of what a mess she probably looked right now.

* * *

Tom looks down at the latest victim almost claimed by the sea.

She was pretty, and actually quite adorable with her crazy looking hair. But she was also an outright hellcat. He may as well have saved the shrew herself. Or a witch. Yes, witch suited her.

And she was lucky, so incredibly lucky, that her outburst earlier had caused him to pay her extra focus. That same focus, which let him watch her movements, and notice exactly the moment she went under.

It was evident she'd not be able to save herself. She had almost zero swimming skills, and paddled like a lost puppy. It was pathetic.

Now, though, he wanted to gauge her reaction. "Thank me all you want, but you put yourself in reckless danger. I've proven to be quite useful, don't you think?"

At once, the dazed look disappears from her eyes, replaced by something fiery, and she sits up, draping the towel over her shoulders.

"It wasn't my fault the ball ended up in the high tide area, Sir."

Ah, yes, Potter must've told her about his other job.

"Maybe you should learn to play better."

"Maybe you should've just let me drown, then."

The corners of his mouth twitch up. He doesn't know whether to be angry with her insolence or laugh at her sarcasm. He chooses not to reply and instead gives her a smile he hoped was charming enough.

Sure enough, her cheeks stain pink, but her gaze is still levelled sharply at him. Unassuming and lethal, that's how he would describe her. You wouldn't think her soft brown eyes were capable of spitting fire and burning anyone unlucky to be in their vicinity. Or maybe you'd be lucky, actually. Leaning in, he decides to stoke that fire.

"Am I making you nervous?"

She squawks at once. "What!? No! You don't make me nervous, you make me—angry!"

"Perhaps then you're making me nervous," he whispers into the shell of her ear.

She gasps and shuffles back away from him, looking even more flustered.

"Excuse me, I have more important things to do, like reading—"

"Of course you read. You look like the metaphorical definition of a bookworm."

She points a finger at him as a gust of wind rushes past them, carrying the stinging sand. "And you, despite being a teacher and a bloody lifeguard, look like you belong in some illegal mafia."

"I thought you were about to say "the fashion runaway", but mafia works, too."

She gives him an eye-roll and pushes her wet hair back. "You're so shallow and up yourself, are you always like this with everyone?"

"No, I'm actually quite pleasant, but are you always so defensive?" He bit the inside of his mouth to prevent himself from laughing.

"I'm not!—"

He cuts her off, changing the topic."By the way, let me guess, of all the books you can read at the beach, you've probably decided to read your literacy unit's set text."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. And so what? I enjoy the novel on its own, that's why I've chosen to bring it with me today," she sniffs, challenging him to make fun of her. Which he definitely does, because she was amusing to no end.

"That's cute, reading on the beach. Reminds me of those Impressionist paintings in the gallery." He stands up, and she follows the same. Back straight, she places a hand on her hip, pointing at him again with the other. He felt like he was being threatened by a puppy. She swam like one anyway, so it made sense.

"You call me defensive, but you're no different to me. Like who in their rightful mind quotes the bloody art gallery as an insult?

He doesn't reply. He had pushed her buttons the entire time and now finally, she had pushed back one of his. How did he let himself be affected so? Pulse racing, head dizzy, he knew he wanted something more from her.

"What's your name?"

"What? Why do you need my name? You have no uses for my name unless you want to turn it into a joke—"

"You're babbling. I just want to know your name."

She opens her mouth as though to reply, but looks down instead, fiddling with her thumbs. The wind blows through her hair again, and she cards her fingers through it, but still doesn't look up. He watches her, transfixed.

In the distance, he can see her overly energetic friends walking back to the beach.

"Hermione."

Hermione.

She suited the name well.

"Shakespeare?"

"Yes, but my parents just wanted to name me something clever," she says with a short laugh, looking everywhere but at him.

Tom reaches down again, and draws out the letters of his mobile phone number into the sand, before standing back up. "Keep this, if you want."

Flushed all over, she locks eyes with him, finally. He wanted to reach out and coil his fingers into her hair, just to see how she'd react, just to see then what her eyes would hold for him. But Tom decides it was best to leave, now.

"I'll see you around."

And with that, he walks back to the tent. Perhaps she will decide to keep in contact, and if not, well, that was her choice. He'd sorely miss the opportunity of riling her up again, though.

* * *

He gave her his number.

He just gave her his number and she couldn't believe it.

In a trance, Hermione catches up with her friends where Ron hands her over an ice-cream. She can barely hear them as they go to sit on their beach rug, ice-creams in hand.

Deftly, her fingers fish out her phone from the bag.

"Just a minute! I want to take a photo of the horizon," she says to the group, heading down to the shore again.

She quickly taps away the number on the screen, saving the display picture with a photo of the view, where she'd been rescued from(she wasn't really lying to the others, after all). Maybe later she will change it.

She opens up a new chat.

**Hermione: **Hi…Tom? Is that your name?

**Tom:** No, it's Myrtle

**Hermione:** …

**Hermione:** Git

**Tom:** I'm just kidding, Hermyownknee ;)

**Hermione:** Shut up Tomothy

* * *

Dear readers, let me know your thoughts! Seriously, you guys give me encouragement to keep writing stuff. I have quite a few AU ideas planned out that I hope to write soon (and I will also update the horror fic soon, it's almost all planned and written out, just need to add details). Thank you for reading!


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